


Cut Down

by PolarGrizz47



Series: Uncharted Prompts [32]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Major Wounds, Sorrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:51:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9169411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarGrizz47/pseuds/PolarGrizz47
Summary: Written for the prompt: "I'm so sorry I let this happen to you." Rafe/Zoran





	

The pain is intense, but somehow _soothing_. He’s too weak to really complain about it, and it’s getting easier to close his eyes and let the ringing silence wash over him.

Now that all the gunfire was over, Rafe found that it was _disturbingly_ silent. He sucked in another breath, managing to let out a hacking cough. It’s hard enough trying to turn his head to the side so he doesn’t suffocate on his own spit and blood, but Rafe thinks that he’d rather bleed to death than choke to death.

As he lays there panting in the dirt like some sort of _fucking animal_ , Rafe clenches his fists into the empty dust and smirks to himself. This isn’t how he saw it ending. Not like this. He doesn’t _want_ to die - but it’s not a totally shameful death, he supposes. Ambushed in the night by rival paramilitary troops. Oh, how Nadine had warned him about _this_.

At least he’s not dying alone. Other men bleed out in the ground around him, some still moaning in agony and other’s long ago stilled. He coughs again, the blood clinging to his lips as he glanced at the sky, mildly annoyed by the cloudy atmosphere.

Not even a fucking star to calm his nerves. Rafe lets his eyes slide closed, his hands unclench. A humored breath of laughter rattles out of him, followed by another hacking cough. 

Oh yes, Zoran was right. This was a _perfect_ place to pitch up camp.

* * *

“Rafe,” Zoran starts, steeling his voice as he carefully slips his arm under Rafe’s shoulders. “ _Rafe_ ,” He repeated sternly, almost _expecting_ the man’s eyes to flutter open. But he’s too pale, too cold, too _stiff_. Zoran knows it’s already over, had been over for a long time.

He gently lifts Rafe off the ground, brushing aside the dirt that clung to the drying gore. His throat grows tight as he watches a few strands of Rafe’s hair come undone, hanging into his face as his head lolls, deadweight in Zoran’s strong arms.

“I’m so sorry,” Zoran breaths, surprising himself as he tenderly brushes Rafe’s hair back into place. They have to move to bodies, bury them before the next day’s heat makes them bloat. Slowly, carefully, he works his other arm underneath Rafe’s knees before collecting the pale man to his chest.

There is no need to be soft and gentle with a _body_ , but something keeps Zoran from treating Rafe like a nameless corpse. His throat is tight as he stands, lips turning downwards in a frown as he looks over Rafe’s body. “ _I_ let this happen to you,” Zoran mutters, voice sure and self-loathing. “I should’ve taken you with me.”

He isn’t sure how he mourns somebody like Rafe, their relationship still growing, but he feels as if something has been _stolen_ from him. Cut too short in it’s prime. Anger boils under his veins, a response for his own self-protection, unable to cope with his stunted sorrow.

Rafe’s body joins the other corpses by the treeline, one of Zoran’s spare jackets draped over his form. It was a horrific loss of life, of the pure skill his men had, but all’s fair in love and war. Rafe’s body is distracting, a reminder of Zoran’s _failure_. He tries not to stare at it, at Rafe’s bloodied and pale hand sticking out from the material of his coat. 

Instead of lingering around motionlessly, he picks up a shovel and joins his men silently, his gaze calculating and expression schooled. 

**Author's Note:**

> Opps, sorry Rafe!


End file.
